


Only The Beginning

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Happily Ever After, Happy Beginning, Happy Ending, Post-Finale Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the final battle, Belle and Rumpelstiltskin begin their happily ever after. Featuring a nursery, reunion sex, and the return of Belle's wedding ring.





	Only The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically all of my post-finale Rumbelle feelings summed up in a 9,000 word fic. I still can't believe Rumbelle got their baby back, and a happy ending!

The walk back from the mines is quiet.

Rumple has already explained what happened while she was nursing her ankle, the confrontation with his darker self that – even if she had been capable – Belle would have known he had to fight alone. It came out in a rush, disbelieving and shaking as they held their son together for the first time. He told her everything, and she is proud of him, prouder than she has words to express. He had fought the darkness, rejected it, and won. He had felt the shift: his darkness, the thick black magic in his veins, had turned to light. She had been right all along, and he is sorry, so sorry, for having doubted her.

The baby in the basket in Belle’s arms, their precious boy restored to them whole and innocent, is proof enough of Rumpelstiltskin’s victory. Belle tells him so, again and again, and he almost looks as if he believes this might be real after all.

But as they leave the mines, they lapse into silence. 

There are a thousand things Belle needs to say to Rumpelstiltskin, constellations worth of feelings and questions and loose ends to tie up. A happy beginning is one thing, but surely they should discuss what it means in practice? Shouldn’t they sit down and talk about the future, and where to live, and how to raise their beautiful baby son, and whether this means they’re married again? 

She hopes it does. Dear god, she hopes it does. She doesn’t want to raise Gideon without Rumple at her side. She doesn’t want to wake up every morning without Rumple at her side, much less anything else. Belle can’t accept a happily ever after where they’re still apart, when they’ve fought so long to be together. That ending wouldn’t be happy at all.

And yet, the walk back to the mines is quiet. It’s as if now, at the end of it all (and the beginning, too) there’s nothing left that needs to be said. They are together, with their baby safe and loved, because they are Belle and Rumpelstiltskin and that is how things should be. Anything that kept them apart before is over now, and nothing new has arisen to make a fresh attempt. Hopefully, the days of such disruptions are at last behind them. Belle can’t imagine anything that could convince her to willingly part with the man at her side ever again.

His hand is warm in hers, and strong. His grip is firm, as if he fears if he releases her she’ll vanish. She wants to tell him she’ll always be beside him now, and that he doesn’t have to worry anymore. But it doesn’t need saying, does it? Not when squeezing his hand in return will say more than words ever could. 

They don’t discuss where they should live: they walk to the house they both call home of their own accord, without hesitation or direction. Rumple lets her in (she doesn’t have keys, they were taken from her by the curse), and she hangs her coat next to his on the stand. 

She’s been sleeping here since the Blue Fairy took up residence in the back room. She hadn’t felt safe on the Jolly Roger since the incident with Jekyll and Hyde, and soon after had returned to her cold apartment over the library. But she hasn’t been back there in weeks, and it never really felt like home. 

She’d slept at the convent, the night after she sent Gideon away. It was the only place she had felt safe from Rumpelstiltskin. Belle had looked at him, that day in the library, and for the first time she had truly seen the monster he’d always warned her about. The fear of what that monster could do to their child had driven her to the worst decision she’d ever made, the sacrifice she had regretted the moment he was out of her arms. That night, she had wept until she couldn’t breathe.

Now, she wonders where he slept that night, if he slept at all. Did he return here, to what had been their marital bed, and think on all that had led them to that terrible place? More likely he’d slept in the shop, trying to distract himself with work or spinning until he collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Had the same ghosts haunted him, happy dancing couples in gold dresses and blue coats, unaware of the wreckage and ruin that awaited them, dancing off a cliff? 

She wanted to ask, but her throat closed on the words. It was too much, too soon, and she couldn’t bear to break this moment with such unhappy memories. She added it to the list of questions, along with why he’d really cut his hair, and what had happened between him and the Evil Queen. It was wonderful, now, to not fear those answers; to know that come what may, they would face it together.

When Gideon had returned to them as that angry young man, Belle hadn’t known where to turn or what to do. Rumple had suggested she stay in the back room of the shop, in case Gideon returned and needed his mother. The offer had been oddly comforting, even in such a time of crisis. It was nice to sleep somewhere familiar, somewhere where she had spent so many of her best memories. It was nice, although she hadn’t been able to admit it at the time, to feel close to him again. Nice, too, to look at him and see a man she almost recognised, the warmth returned to his dark eyes and comfort on his lips. She had comforted herself with the memory of the love that she still saw in his eyes, love for their poor broken son, and the thought that maybe Gideon wasn’t the only lost soul that they could still bring home, and back to the light. 

When Blue had taken up that bed, just days later, Rumple had tentatively offered the spare room in his house. She had accepted without a second thought. United as they were in saving their son, the miseries of her short-lived pregnancy began to fade into the background. The more they worked for Gideon, and the more they talked and shared their worries, the more she saw the man she had loved so very, very much returning to the surface.

He had lost himself, she had come to realise, just as she once had. Where she had been lost to wilful blindness, unwilling to see the broken man in front of her in her desperation for a happy marriage, he had been lost to his darkness and his fears. Her anger at having that happiness ripped away, her disillusionment with true love and its restorative powers, had driven her away from him when he needed her the most. And every time she’d tried to reach out, his terror and his despair had pushed her away. 

Worn down as she had been by worry and fear, by an endless cycle of loss and grief, she had abandoned him in the darkness while he made a home there. She had let the Black Fairy prey on her worst fears, and it had almost cost them their family.

But he hadn’t let that happen. 

The thought occurs to her out of nowhere, and it knocks her breathless. Every time she had felt like giving up, when it had seemed the darkness had won and Fiona would be successful, Rumpelstiltskin had taken her hand and given her hope. 

She smiles at Rumpelstiltskin, unable to stop. Even at his worst, he hadn’t let them lose one another. With Gideon as his guiding light, he had returned to her. With Gideon as her justification, Belle had let him. He’s never given up hope that their son could come home, and his mother would be defeated, and the light would win out over the dark. From the moment Gideon was born, his whole being has been bent on protecting and loving their child.

He’s been so good, so calm and stalwart, always ready with reassurance and a new plan. Only now, with everything said and done, does he stand awkwardly before her, at a loss for what to do.

“Do you want to hold him?” she asks. She’s carried Gideon in his basket back from the mines, unable to contemplate letting him go. Now, she realises that Rumple has never had the chance to hold him at all.

He nods, his eyes filling with tears. She scoops the baby out of his basket, and hands him to his father. “There, Gideon,” she murmurs. “You remember your papa, right? He loves you so much. He never gave up on you.”

“Hey there, son,” Rumple manages, holding the baby close to his chest, every muscle and bone in his body seeming to bend around him, cradling him with unspeakable tenderness. 

Belle looks up at his face, and the pure love in his eyes moves her to tears. How could she ever have thought he’d be a threat to their child? How could any child hope for more devoted, wonderful father than Rumpelstiltskin?

“I’ve been waiting a long time to hold you,” Rumple says, and presses a kiss to Gideon’s forehead. Belle smiles to see him inhale, breathing in the soft baby smell she’s rapidly becoming addicted to. “I promise never to let go again,” he murmurs. “I love you, son, more than I can say.”

“He knows that,” Belle told him, softly. “The bigger him knew that, anyway. And we can make sure that this time, he never has cause to doubt it again. We can raise him in a house filled with so much love, he won’t know what to do with it all.”

“We?” he looks up at her, unabashed hope in his eyes. It’s a good look on him, hope and love and light, instead of fear and darkness. It’s been there for a while, she realises, simmering beneath the surface. Perhaps all he ever needed was something to hope for. 

Her hand covers his on Gideon’s head, and she smiles. “We,” she confirms. “If… if you’ll still have me?”

She looks in his eyes, and for a breathless moment there’s only silence. There’s more love in that one expression, the helpless and hopeless way he gazes at her, the tremble to his lips, than he could possibly express in words. 

The arm not holding Gideon hauls her in. He covers her mouth with his, a silent and perfect promise of everything she could possibly ask for.

It’s not their first kiss, not by a long shot, and yet it feels like the dawn is breaking. If there were a curse left to break, Belle knows true love’s kiss when she feels it. His mouth is soft and warm, tentative as he caresses her lips with his, his hand on her arm so gentle his hold would break if she shivered. She leans up to deepen it, slipping her tongue inside to slide against his. Her hand cups the back of his head, and for a moment she misses his longer hair, the sensation of the soft strands sliding between her fingers. They kiss until she runs out of breath, until her knees are weak and she knows she must be crushing Gideon, her body acting of its own accord to be closer to them both. 

She rocks back down on her heels, and smiles at her wonderful husband. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Gideon needs his mother,” Rumple replies, his eyes soft and sparkling. “And… and I have missed my wife.”

Belle nods, “Good, because I’ve really, really missed my husband.”

He swallows hard, his smile tremulous and beautiful. The moment is broken by Gideon, waving his hands and giving a soft little cry, like he’s warming up to something louder. “We should get this little one to bed,” Rumple says. “And he probably needs a feed.”

“Do we have anywhere for him to sleep aside from the basket?” Belle asks, suddenly concerned. “I never… I never dreamed he’d be restored to us. I didn’t think we’d need a nursery for him. And you’re right, food! When I sent him away the fairies fixed me up, so I don’t think I can feed him, and we don’t have any formula and…” Her heart breaks at the thought of not even being able to feed her son, at not having thought of a place to sleep. She could fail him right out of the gate.

“Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin’s soothing voice cuts through her spiral, and she looks up to see him holding a baby bottle full of milk. “I’m a sorcerer, remember? The least I can do is conjure a bottle of formula.”

“Oh,” she breathes, shaking her head and smiling at how daft she’s being. “Yes, of course, silly me.”

“You’ve had a very hard day,” he says, gently. Belle watches, enraptured, as he lowers the bottle to Gideon’s mouth, and Gideon latches on to suckle as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “There you go, little one,” he murmurs. “Drink up, you’ve had a hard day too.”

“You’ll teach me how to do that, right?” Belle asks. “How to look after a baby, I mean? I never got though most of the books.”

“You’ve already mastered the most important parts,” Rumple replies. “You love him, and you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe and happy. The rest is just technique.”

“Still, I’m glad he has a parent who already knows those things,” Belle says. 

“I’m sure there’re more books we can find, if practice isn’t enough,” he teases, and the soft bend of his crooked grin makes her want to kiss him again. “But for now, you need rest. You look as exhausted as he does.”

“Can you conjure a crib for him?” she asks. Rumpelstiltskin swallows hard.

“I, ah, don’t need to,” he admits. He looks unaccountably nervous, like he’s confessing to something, and Belle’s eyes narrow as she tips her head to one side. “The locked room at the end of the hall is a nursery. I didn’t want you to know I-“ he stops, swallows hard, closes his eyes. “Once my mother was defeated, I had intended to ask Gideon if he wanted to be restored to his innocence,” he admits, unable to look her in the eye as he does. “There’s a counter-spell to the dust that sped up your pregnancy, and it would have accomplished this same result. He was such an angry young man, with a life so full of pain. I thought he might want a second chance.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she breathes, her arm coming around his back so she can hold them both. He shakes his head.

“I didn’t want to remind you of all we’d lost,” he admits. “Or that, were it to happen, I still intended that he spend some of his time living with me. I was afraid you would insist he remain as he was, or that you still intended to keep him away from me.”

“He was in so much pain, Rumple,” she says, her voice choking at just the thought of it. “She broke him into pieces, over and over again. However much I loved the young man who came back to us, I love him enough to want him to have his best chance. He could never have been truly happy, having had a life like that, without a single good memory. He deserves his chance at a happy childhood, with parents who love him.”

He nods. Her grip around his shoulders tightens.

“That happy childhood has to include you,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper and shaking with the force of her emotions. “I was wrong before; we both were. You’re such a good father, Rumple. No matter what had happened with us, even if… even if I didn’t feel the way I do, he deserves to have that in his life: a father who loves him, who will never stop fighting for him. I couldn’t bear to keep him apart from you, after all you’ve done for him, for all of us.”

He looks at her, and for a moment he is ragged and worn thin, and she sees the weight of the past months, how it has cost him to keep going in the face of all this pain. He deserves some happiness now, she thinks: he deserves peace, and love, and kindness. 

She kisses him gently, just a soft brush of her lips. Then she pulls the hand not supporting Gideon down, and wraps her fingers in his, squeezing hard and smiling as he squeezes back. 

He leads her upstairs slowly, and down the hallway to the room he described. Before, she had been too afraid to ask what he might have locked away from her. This had been his house, not theirs, and in her mind she had been a guest, with no right to expect him to tell her anything that wasn’t directly Gideon-related. He had embraced the darkness so fully before Gideon’s birth that she had suspected he might be hiding something awful, but she had relinquished any rights to an opinion when she turned her back on him.

Now, he opens the door slowly, and switches on the overhead light. Belle blinks back tears, her hands covering her mouth to muffle a soft sob.

It is the most beautiful nursery she’s ever seen. Decorated in pale shades of blue, one wall is darker, the colour of the night sky, and covered in constellations of small, shimmering gold stars. The floor is a soft azure carpet, and there are shelves full of toys and games and books, and a whole menagerie of stuffed animals. The far wall is a bank of windows, while another bears a huge wardrobe, painted in a scene of a joust, and a dresser in a matching pale wood. The crib rests under the windows, a beautiful, hand-carved thing, with a matching rocking chair right beside it. There is even a long bed against the far wall, which Belle supposes is there in case either of them needs to sleep in here with him. 

“It’s beautiful, Rumple,” Belle breathes. When she looks up at him, he is looking right at her.

“I started it when you were living on the Jolly Roger,” he tells her. “But I redecorated only recently. I thought, since he grew up the first time all alone in the dark, this time he should have the sky within sight at all times. It gave me something to do.”

She nods, unable to keep herself in check, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s perfect,” she manages. “He can be so happy in here.”

Rumpelstiltskin nods, his lips trembling with emotion. He carries Gideon over to the crib, and Belle follows, like the tide pulled to the moon. Even the cushion and blanket in the crib are embroidered with tiny golden stars.

“Is that your thread?” she asks, softly. He nods.

“Something to do,” he repeats. Belle stares at him: she didn’t think she could have loved him more than she had already, but now her heart is full to bursting.

“He’s so lucky to have you,” she tells him, an echo of his compliment from a few days previous. He doesn’t reply. “You know,” she adds, tentatively, “We never got to talk about a name. We were fighting all the way through the pregnancy, and after the aging dust and the early birth I hated you so much…”

“You wouldn’t even tell me his name,” Rumple finishes, his voice hoarse and wretched. “I remember. I deserved it.”

“You didn’t,” she assures him, her hand soft on his forearm. “I thought you had tried to steal him from me, and cut away his fate so that he would be cast adrift in the world. I never asked you why you felt that way, or tried to convince you otherwise. Instead of giving you hope, I offered only more fear.”

“You were right to fear me,” he says. “I very almost became the same sort of monster my mother was, and it was your fear that held me back and made me see the truth. How thankful I am now you stopped me cutting away his fate, given we’ve seen now how poorly that can run.”

“I was so frightened by that dream we had,” she says, frustrated now by her past self’s poor judgment. “I couldn’t think straight, or see you in the dark. We should have picked a name together. She stole that from us, made me think it was right to do it alone. We should have tried to make a home, rather than careening off to our own worst instincts. But… I can’t imagine him as anything but Gideon now.”

“I’d have agreed with that choice,” Rumple offers. “It’s a good name, a strong name, and it suits him. I wouldn’t change it now.”

“I still didn’t ask,” she insists. “Not before naming him, or before sending him away. The Black Fairy’s visions made it so hard to see you clearly, and it was so easy to see you as the enemy.”

“I didn’t make it any easier on you,” he says. “I let myself be drawn into darker and darker thoughts, so afraid of losing you and our child to some nameless threat that I became the threat itself. If I had been willing to talk to you, to listen to you…”

“If I’d been willing to do the same, we wouldn’t be here either,” she says. “But the past is the past, Rumple. I know you’re sorry, and you know I am too, so what matters now is our future, together, with our son.”

“Yes,” he agrees, firmly. His hand reaches in, and strokes Gideon’s soft, pale cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

“So you should name him too,” she suggests, finally coming to her point. “A name for his first start, and a name for his second.”

Rumpelstiltskin thinks about it. “And what if I choose something horrendous or spiteful? How about Morpheus?”

Belle snickers, “Maybe not. Might give him ideas, like he doesn’t have to get out of bed in the morning.”

“My father named me out of spite, you know,” he says, mildly. “The Blue Fairy told me, when my mother let me take her out of the mines. It was his punishment, she said, for taking away my mother. For being such a terrible baby she had abandoned me, and him too. She thought he would soften over time, that if she just left it alone… the gnat felt she’d done enough damage, and worried my mother would return if she lingered.”

“You can talk to her about that,” Belle reminds him. The relationship between Rumple and Blue is more complicated than she’d ever imagined, but she thinks part of a happy ending must be tying up loose ends, and making amends. “She owes you answers, at least. She owes you a little peace.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for them,” he admits. Belle nods. Her heart breaks for the pain he has endured, the abuse Fiona’s legacy has forced on him. He has suffered so much worse than he was owed, she thinks. Gideon isn’t the only one in need of a fresh start.

“You’ll get there. I have faith in you, Rumple. And if your father named you for hate, then you should give your son a name for love.” 

Rumpelstiltskin thinks a while longer. She imagines he’d like to choose ‘Neal’, but the Charmings have denied them that opportunity. She can’t imagine anyone else he’d like to name a child after, and is about to let him off the hook when he speaks.

“Matthew,” he says. “If asked, I would have suggested Matthew.”

“That’s a good name,” she says, smiling encouragingly. It sounds good when she says it out loud: “Gideon Matthew Gold.”

“It didn’t belong to anyone, it doesn’t have any special meaning to me,” he continues, before she can ask. “It’s just a good name, a clean name. He can make of it what he will.”

“A fresh start,” Belle nods. “Free of expectations.”

“Expectations are good,” he counters, gently, knowing she might be getting the wrong idea, that naming him for her childhood hero had been selfish. “He should know we want the best for him, that we believe in him. They just have to be balanced with a little freedom and acceptance.”

“He’ll know that,” Belle nods. She takes Rumple’s hands in hers, and squeezes them tight. “We’ll never let him forget.”

They look down at the baby, sleeping peacefully in his cradle. “How long do they usually sleep?” she asks. Rumple thinks for a moment.

“An hour, if we’re lucky,” he says. “Then he’ll likely need another feed or a change, or both.”

“Tomorrow I’m going to the convent and asking Blue to restore my ability to breastfeed,” Belle tells him, a decision she’s made on the spot but knows is right. There’s something aching inside her, something that longs for the sort of maternity she dreamed about while pregnant with Gideon.

“If that’s something you want, you shouldn’t be prevented from it,” Rumple agrees. “You’ve waited long enough to be his mother.”

“I need to go back to the shop, too,” she adds. “I need to give him the teddy bear I got for him. He loved it so much a few days ago.“

Rumplestiltskin breaks their contact, and in a rush of white smoke, that very same teddy bear appears in his hand. “He loves this bear,” he agrees. “He should have it.”

She nods, choked up again, and takes the bear in both hands. “Look at you,” she murmurs, “Using magic to fetch toys for infants.”

“My reputation will be in tatters,” he jokes, his eyes bright and kind. She grins.

“Hey, Gideon,” she murmurs, leaning down into the crib. “Remember this? You called him Brownie, when I gave it to you before. You held onto him right up until the curse ripped us apart again. Now he’s yours again, see? He found his way home to you.”

She tucks the bear in next to Gideon, and watches as he snuffles in his sleep, one little fist – so tiny; the smallest hand she’s ever seen, soft and pink and perfect –reaching out to grab the bear’s fur. 

“We should let him sleep,” she says, straightening and sniffling. “Thank you, Rumple. He should have his bear.”

“He’s too small to sleep with a book,” Rumple says, with a crooked smile. “Give him time, I’m sure he’ll grow back into being his mother’s son.”

Belle gives a soft, wet laugh. He turns on the baby monitor by the crib, and leads her by the hand out of the room. They close the door behind them with a soft ‘click’.

Then, they are alone, with no Gideon to distract them.

For a moment, Belle has no idea what to do. She wants to laugh until her sides hurt, at how at the end of it all victory had been snatched from the jaws of defeat. She wants to cry until she collapses on the floor at the tragedy of it all, the relief of it finally being over and the horror of the past months. She wants to kiss Rumpelstiltskin. More than anything, she wants to kiss him.

She misses her husband. For all Gideon has been restored to them, their friends are safe and the town finally secure, Rumple having embraced the light and made the right choices, she has been without him for months. The last time he was truly her husband was the night they conceived Gideon. The very next morning, he had told her he was off to the Underworld, and only days later the struggle and strife of her pregnancy and Gideon’s first days had begun.

She has missed his eyes and his smile and his conversation, but those things she has had returned to her since their fight for Gideon began. Now, she misses his kisses: not just the soft, meaningful ones, but the passionate ones, the desperate ones, the sucks and bites to her neck and shoulders, his tongue swirling over her bare skin, marking every inch of her as his. She misses his butterfly kisses to her eyelids and cheeks, and the way his mouth will grow slack against hers, their kisses messy and open-mouthed as they lose themselves to their pleasure. She misses his arms around her, and his throaty compliments in her ear, and him buried so deep inside her she can’t tell where she ends and he begins. Most of all, she misses the connection of simply being with him, of being able to express with her body what words can’t. 

Belle knows she should be satisfied with what she has now: her home, her newborn son safe in his crib, and Rumpelstiltskin standing beside her, loving and strong, with no secrets or lies or darkness left between them. But that’s exactly the problem: the closer she gets him, the closer she wants him.

“We should be getting to bed,” she says, and while it’s supposed to sound like a simple suggestion, it comes out like a question. He nods.

“I suppose so,” he agrees. They stand there, staring at one another. Belle makes no move toward her guest bedroom, where her pyjamas and empty bed await. 

“Rumple?” she squeezes his hand, a knot forming in her throat at the thought of being apart from him, even just for the night. It isn’t right. They’re husband and wife, they have a child: they should be together. 

“Yes, Belle?”

“I really don’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she admits, softly. “Could I come in with you?”

He nods, immediately, before the words are even out. “Sweetheart, I would love nothing more.”

“Good,” she nods, the urge to hug him and kiss him deep too strong for words. She doesn’t just want to share his bed for companionship or warmth: she wants to share their bed, the way they used to, to be complete and reunited with him in all ways. “Because I love you, Rumpelstiltskin, and I don’t ever want to be apart from you again.”

He stares at her, astonished, his hands squeezing hers tight. His thumbs play over the backs of her hands, and his eyes grow a little dazed, his mouth opening a little in wonder. “I love you too, Belle,” he tells her, as if it’s in question. Her feelings have been a matter of debate, but his never have. For all his faults, his love never wavers. “I always have. I have always loved you.”

She nods, biting the inside of her lip to keep from crying. The baby monitor vanishes from his hand – appearing, she assumes, on his bedside table – and he steps forward with single-minded intent, his hands cupping her jawline and holding her still. This time, when they kiss, there’s no baby between them to keep Belle from dragging at his hair, hauling him close until there’s not an inch of daylight between them, his lips open over hers, plundering her mouth until she moans. He kisses her like he’s starving, like he’s trying to drag her into himself and never let go again. His hands grasp at her hips, holding her against him, and eventually she has to wrench herself back just to breathe.

The moment her mouth leaves his, his mouth is trailing across her cheek, nibbling at her jaw, kissing down her throat until he reaches the juncture of neck and shoulder. Belle moans deep in her throat as he sucks hard at her pulse point, worrying it enough that she knows it will leave a mark. Let them look. Let all of Storybrooke know that she loves her husband, and that he loves her too. Let them see that this reunion is real, and complete, and permanent. That come hell or high water, she’s never letting him go again. 

Her back hits the wall with a soft thud, his hand on the back of her head protecting her from the impact. His hands skim the waistline of her skirt under her cardigan, pulling at her blouse. They’re pressed flush, and yet she still arches closer, trying to get as much of her against as much of him as she possibly can. It’s as if her skin is starving for him, as if now she’s had a fresh taste she can’t possibly ever get enough.

“Please,” she gasps. “Please, I love you, I need you. I need you more than I need to breathe, please Rumple.”

He nods, his mouth still worshipping her neck and face, occasionally returning to her lips for more of those deep, drugging kisses. It’s all that Belle can do to moan and cling to him, shuddering all over with pleasure. It’s been months since they were together, months since she’s been touched like this, and every brush of his mouth and hands sets a fire beneath her skin. No one else could ever make her feel this way, electric on the surface of her skin, as if her whole body is alive with longing for him. 

She wrenches her mouth from his as he gets her blouse free from her skirt at last. He’s already pulled her cardigan off, and she shrugs out of the arms, letting it fall forgotten on the ground at her feet. “Not here,” Belle gasps. 

He pulls back, his eyes dazed and lips slack, and she blushes as he hauls himself back to reality. She strokes his hair, her palm slipping down to cup his cheek. “We should be in our bed,” she says. “We should do this properly.”

He nods, finally registering her words. He steps back, but his hands don’t leave her hips, as if he can’t bear to stop touching her completely. Belle takes a moment to gather herself, but her efforts are completely in vain: a moment later, those hands on her hips have moved, one under her waist and one catching under her knees, and he’s hauled her up and into his arms.

Belle squeals, surprise turning to delight, as he arranges her in his arms bridal-style. “Easier when I fell from a height, wasn’t it?” she teases when he grunts a little with effort, but his smile is brilliant.

His forehead bumps hers, their noses touching. “You’re just as beautiful as you were then,” he murmurs. “I never thought…”

His eyes close, and she sees tears leak out from beneath his eyelashes. He’s holding her close, just like he had Gideon, and the feeling of being held close, of him supporting her and holding on tight, is wonderful. She also knows she weighs a fair bit more than their newborn, and even with magic this can’t be comfortable for him. “Hey,” she says, cupping his cheek again. “We’re here now. We’re where we’re supposed to be.”

He nods, and kisses her palm. She snickers. “Well,” she amends, turning her head to look at their bedroom door, “About ten feet from where we’re supposed to be.”

She feels his smile against her palm, and he sets off at a purposeful pace, being careful to hold her steady and not drop her. Belle helps with getting the door open, and she can feel his arms starting to shake with the effort of carrying her. He still refuses to set her down, making it to their bed – the bed she’s missed so much, the bed that never felt right when she slept there alone – and laying her tenderly down on the coverlet.

“Such a gallant husband I have,” she says, beaming at him. He doesn’t straighten up, his hands stay on her, and she pulls him down over her when he sits on the bed and leans in for a kiss. “My hero,” she whispers against his lips, without a trace of irony. How glorious it is, to look at him and not only see the good, strong, brave man she’s always known was there, but know he sees it too. 

He kisses her deeply, his weight covering her as she pulls him closer, encouraging him to lie beside her on the bed. His hands cup her face, holding her still for his kiss. For a moment, all Belle can do is cling to him, hold on tight as he pours more love and devotion than she had thought possible into that one kiss.

When they part for air, he rests his forehead against hers, breathing deep with his eyes still closed. Belle smiles, and pulls at his jacket. It’s wonderful to feel him so close, to have him surrounding her, breathing the same breath, but she needs more. She needs him as close as possible, and even the clothing between them feels like an obstruction now.

He pulls back, regretfully, and lets her pull his jacket from his shoulders and throw it aside. “You should wear some colour,” she muses, as she starts work on his waistcoat. “You’re gorgeous in black, but a little menacing.”

“That’s rather the point, sweetheart,” he reminds her. “One must look the part.”

“If that’s so, I believe the Saviour of Storybrooke, who turned the darkest of all magics into light, ought to wear something in white or gold. I believe I remember a breastplate and a white stallion?”

He grimaces, and she giggles. “Only if you’re willing to transition back into that lovely yellow dress,” he barters, and she grins: he’s still himself, then. His fingers run over the conservative high neckline of her blouse, and she shivers at just that contact, even through the fabric. “It did a wonderful job of displaying your assets.”

She snorts through her nose, “For that, you’d be better off bargaining for the blue dress I used to wear to clean,” she says.

“Oh, believe me I know,” he grins, almost a leer, and Belle feels shivers of heat run down her spine, settling near her pelvis. “But I’ll settle for never seeing this hideous thing again,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at the offending blouse. Belle pulls a face.

“One of your mother’s worst torments,” she agrees. “I love the skirt, but this blouse is an atrocity.”

He snorts, and his deft fingers pluck at the huge bow under her collarbone, untying the knot. “You would be stunning in a burlap sack,” he muses. “But it doesn’t mean you should try.” Belle laughs again: if there’s one thing her husband has, it’s good taste. “However,” he adds, thoughtfully. “If you’ve no attachment to this thing…”

She shakes her head, hoping she knows where this is going. His hands take hold of the thin fabric under her chin and she gasps as he tugs hard, ripping the seams apart until the blouse lies open and her chest and abdomen are exposed.

He’s breathing hard, and Belle finds herself doing the same, although not from any sort of exertion. His eyes feast on the exposed skin, running avidly from her collarbone to her navel and back again, and Belle flushes all over. She had forgotten how it felt to be the subject of his desire, how intense and single-minded he could be in his admiration of her. It’s a heady thing, and it makes her skin ache to be touched, the force of his gaze so strong it is almost a physical thing.

Belle sits up on her arms, and shrugs herself free of the tattered remains of her blouse. Her hand grasps the back of his head, and she tugs him back down over her for another long, deep kiss that turns into several kisses, his tongue dancing and twining with hers. He braces himself over her on one arm, as the other roams over her exposed skin, flattening over her belly, dragging up her sternum until it reaches the barrier of her bra. He tugs at the bridge between the cups, and without him saying a word she nods.

A flicker of magic runs over her skin, and she feels her bra vanish, her breasts lying free and exposed, nipples puckering in the slight cool of the bedroom. The magic feels different, this time, than it has when he’s used it before. It feels brighter, warmer, more like a caress than a prickle. She likes it. 

His hand covers one breast, and she gasps as he starts to knead it gently, his thumb and forefinger playing with the nipple, just as she likes. He knows her body well, plays her like an instrument. He warms her up gently, teasing at her breast until she whimpers and shivers, his mouth still playing over hers. 

Her hands grasp at his shoulders, and she gasps as his tiepin scrapes over her other breast. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she pants into his mouth. “I need to feel you, please, Rumple.”

He nods, his nose bumping hers, and her hands fly to the knot of his tie as he tries to undo his waistcoat buttons with one hand. He has to sit up to take the waistcoat off, and Belle takes the opportunity to get to work on his shirt as his tie and waistcoat hit the floor. The shirt soon follows, and at last Belle can run her hands over his bare skin. Her hand flattens over his heart, and she breathes in deep at the feeling of its strong beat against her palm. It beats for her, and for Gideon: she knows that without him having to say. If someone cut him open, their names would be written through him like the rings on a tree.

He only gives her a moment to touch before he’s on top of her again, and this is so much better, his chest pressed flush to hers, their hearts beating in time, his skin rubbing over hers as he moves to kiss her. Rumple lies over her, and she spreads her knees apart to let him inside, so she can wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders and hold him as close and tight as they can possibly be.

Rumple’s warmth seeps into her skin, and for the first time since the curse broke this feels real, and she can believe he is really here, and whole, and bathed in light, and that their happy beginning can begin at last. 

He kisses her again, his mouth hot and soft over hers, as if he’s drinking her into himself. She tugs at his hair, needing to breathe, and his mouth just moves to her jaw and neck again.

“I miss the long hair,” she admits, something she’s been thinking since that terrible day on the docks, when he arrived shorn and terrible. “You don’t look quite like you without it.”

“I’ll grow it back,” he promises, his mouth buried in her throat, his voice vibrating pleasantly through her. Every brush and tug of his lips and teeth sends a spiral of electricity down through her, and she can feel him hardening against her belly, straining to be free of his trousers.

“Why did you cut it?” she asks, and he looks up with the saddest expression she’s ever seen. She wishes immediately she hadn’t asked, but for that very reason it feels important. She’s learned the hard way that when he doesn’t want to tell her something, it’s when he most needs to. How much easier would these past years have been, had she only pressed on when he pushed her away, if she’d made him feel safe to speak to her without judgment? “Please, Rumple. You can tell me. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“It was a cry for help,” he admits, miserably, after a long, silent moment. He can’t meet her eyes, and it breaks her heart. “It was pathetic: I thought you might see it, and see I was trying to change. I thought if I cut away pieces of myself, maybe I could find something you would want. Then maybe, you might come home.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she breathes, a sob caught in her throat. She pulls him up to her and kisses him again, her tears mixing with his on their cheeks. His shorn hair now feels like a mutilation, like a slice of self-destruction she should have seen. She remembers her own cruel words on the dock, and wishes they hadn’t been true. He had hated himself, and she had only told him he should. “I’m sorry,” she whispers against his mouth, “I’m so sorry, Rumple.”

“You were right,” he tells her, so kind to her even now, even when the apology is more than owed. “I had to face the man in the mirror, and change the things I hated about him. I cut off my hair, but I couldn’t cut off the darkness inside so easily. And at that time, I wasn’t willing to try.”

“You had to do it on your own terms,” she realises, wishing she’d seen it sooner, wishing when she had that she’d said it kindly and not in the heat of anger. “Not just to make me happy, not just to be with Gideon. You had to find your own reason to change.”

“The price of magic was hurting you,” he explains, with a small shrug. “And I couldn’t live with that, it was too much to ask. I didn’t choose love over power because I don’t want power. I chose love because they can’t coexist, and I can live without magic but not…”

“Not without love,” Belle finishes as he trails off. His dark eyes bore into hers, more open and raw and honest than she’s ever seen them. 

“Not without you,” he corrects. “And not without Gideon. I need the two of you to survive. You’re the only thing in my life I truly cherish.”

She nods, another sob welling in her throat, and kisses him again, deep and hard and desperate. This is the man she has missed all of this time, the man who has been hiding for centuries behind the monster he created. The man he should have become, had his mother not cut him off from his happy ending. How strong he must be inside, how intrinsically good, to have clawed his way back to the light despite all the odds. She is so proud of him, she feels her heart might burst.

“It’s the same for me,” she admits, a truth she came to the moment he held her again for the first time after losing Gideon, and she’d known she didn’t want to let go. “I wanted to believe I could be happy, raising Gideon alone, but it was a lie. You’re my happily ever after, Rumple: our family is the only thing I ever wanted.”

He buries his face against her shoulder, and she can feel his tears against her skin, feel his shoulders shaking. She’s crying too, but they’re tears of joy, of relief and release and catharsis, tears for the end of agony and the beginnings of bliss. 

She holds him close, and feels him kiss her shoulder, and her collarbones. He kisses her desperately, every inch he can find of her, across her clavicle and the tops of her breasts, down her sternum, until she’s trembling with desire rather than weeping.

He bites and sucks at one nipple, while rolling the other between thumb and forefinger. Belle moans deep her throat, her chest arching off the bed to be closer to his mouth.

“Rumple?” she pants, as he kisses his way across to her other breast.

“Yes?” he mumbles, his mouth still pressed to her skin. She laughs, lighter and freer and happier than she’s felt in years.

“Could you use magic to get my skirt off?” she asks, her words broken with her heavy breathing. “And… and your pants?”

He looks up at her, and the grin on his face is so beautiful she wants to cry. “Impatient?”

“Rumple, we have a newborn,” she explains, trying for exasperation and failing, because she just can’t stop smiling. “And we’ve been apart since said newborn was conceived. I don’t want to wait anymore, and risk being interrupted. I need you too much to wait at all.”

His rich eyes grow darker, his pupils blow, and suddenly he’s all urgency. He rises up on his arms again, and waves a hand, a familiar theatrical gesture that makes her laugh. Her giggles turn to a breathless moan when she realises, suddenly, that he’s naked against her, and she can feel just how much he wants her pressing against her leg.

She tangles her feet behind his lower back, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. She shudders and moans, tingling all over when the head of his cock first presses against her folds, and only then, when he slips easily down toward her entrance, does she realise just how wet and ready she is for him. It’d be almost embarrassing, if she didn’t know he felt exactly the same way.

“See?” she breathes, his mouth so close to hers that she can feel her own breath against his lips. “I need you, I love you. Make me yours again, Rumpelstiltskin. Make it so we never have to let go again.”

He nods, and kisses her deeply, desperately, as he cants his hips forward and sinks deep inside her. Belle moans, her mouth parting, going slack and glorious sensation of him finally back inside her, right where he belongs. He keeps going until he’s buried to the hilt, and Belle thinks she’s never felt so full and complete in her life. 

“Oh, Belle,” he breathes, pausing there deep inside her, his beautiful eyes gazing right into hers with so much love, such deep devotion, that it moves her to tears. Her hand comes to cup his cheek again, and she blinks her watery eyes, beaming so bright she thinks her face might split in two.

“My Rumple,” she says. “My husband. My happy ever after.”

He nods, his lips trembling, and she kisses him to keep them both from weeping, pouring all her feelings and emotions, her longing and loss and love and overwhelming joy, into that kiss. He groans like it’s torture when he finally moves back, sliding out of her a little way, and she misses him already. Then he’s back, thrusting back inside hard and deep, and she moans again, her back arching, her mouth falling open on their kiss.

His lips go slack as he sets up a slow, deep rhythm that has her moaning and gasping on every thrust, hitting something deep inside her that sends her spinning. She’s close already, months apart from him and the bliss of their reunion making her sensitive and eager. His face is creasing, his thrusts growing harder and more erratic. 

“It’s okay,” she breathes against his mouth, “Just let go.”

“Won’t fail you,” he grunts. She shakes her head: he could never fail her, not anymore, not now he’s fought so hard and made her so happy, but he doesn’t care for her denials. With single-minded intent, he lifts one hand from where he’s braced above her, and works it between them, finding her slippery clit above where they’re joined. It takes only a few flicks of those clever, wonderful fingers of his between her legs, coupled with the wonderful sensation of him moving inside her, thick and hot and whole, for the waves banking inside her to break and crash over her, ripping a harsh cry from her mouth as she climaxes hard around him, the clenching of her muscles like a vice around his cock, dragging him in so they’ll never be apart again.

He groans low and deep against her throat, and as she comes down from her high she feels him pulse inside her, his hips shaking and jerking as he spills himself inside her. She holds him through it, stroking his back and his too-short hair, as he draws in a few deep, ragged breaths, and clutches her close.

For a moment, everything is silent, save for their breathing and the pounding of her heart. She holds him close, almost as tightly as he holds her, and for a moment she is so complete, so happy, that she can hardly see for stars.

Slowly, his softening cock slips out of her, and he rolls onto his side, gathering her close against him and nuzzling his face into her neck again. Rumple breathes in deep, inhaling her, and his hands run slowly over her back. Only then does Belle realise she’s shaking. 

Something occurs to her then, an unpleasant thought. “We didn’t use protection,” she murmurs. “Rumple, I’m not ready-“

“Shh,” he breathes, and his warm hand flattens on her lower belly. She feels another stroke of that new, bright magic slip through her, an odd tingle that makes her toes curl. “There,” he says. “Crisis averted, if there were one to begin with. Gideon will remain an only child for now.”

Belle bites her lip, and nods. “For now,” she agrees. She’s not ready to discuss more children – although she certainly wants them, at least another child if not two or three – but she wants him to know it’s a possibility. 

She feels him smile against her skin, and knows he catches her meaning. “I could sleep now,” she adds, softly. 

“Then sleep,” he says. “You must be exhausted. I can see to Gideon, should he need anything.”

Belle nods. There’s something else niggling at her, one more thing to make their happiness complete. Slowly, regretfully, she disentangles herself from his arms, and tries not to see the hurt and fear return to his eyes. “Just one moment,” she tells him, and presses a kiss to his lips. “I just need to fetch something.”

She pads across the bedroom, to the jewellery box she kept on the dresser. She can feel his eyes on her, catches him in the mirror lazily admiring her backside, and she smiles to herself, enjoying the pleasant shiver down her spine at his open appreciation. She hasn’t opened this jewellery box in months, not since she left for Camelot. It’s nice, now, to be able to look at the beautiful necklaces and earrings he gave her in their early months without the sickness of missing him, the misery and anger that had plagued her thoughts of him for so very long. But there’s only one piece in here she’s looking for now, and it’s buried at the very bottom, where she wouldn’t have to see it.

She reaches in, and pulls out her wedding ring, the beautiful vintage diamond he’d given her that night at the well. She slips it on her finger, and only then does the world come into sharp focus, the reality of a happy ending – no, a happy beginning, she corrects herself – finally sinking in.

Belle turns to see him watching her with a smile that is half wonder, half disbelief. She comes around to his side of the bed, and stands over him naked as the day she was born, wearing nothing but her wedding ring. 

She holds out her hand, and displays the ring. “Does it still suit me?” she teases. He stares at her, dumbfounded.

“You mean it?” he asks, and she can see the desperate hope in his eyes warring with his inability to believe it, that his dreams can really come true, that their happiness can be complete. 

Belle nods. “I promised I would go with you forever, Rumpelstiltskin,” she reminds him. “I think it high time I make good on that, don’t you?”

His smile could light half of Maine, and he takes her hand in his, kissing her knuckles so the diamond brushes his lips. A sharp tug a moment later has her falling over him, which she imagines is the intention, and he rolls them over so he is holding her again, tangled around her as close as could be.

“My perfect wife,” he murmurs, and kisses her temple. She nods.

“My wonderful husband,” she replies. He kisses her again, and again, and then his hands start wandering and it’s a few minutes before she can breathe again, her breasts tingling at his ministrations. She can feel herself growing wet and ready for him again.

“Do you still want to sleep?” he asks, his mouth at her ear, worrying her earlobe between his teeth. She shakes her head.

“I think we should stay awake,” she whispers. “You know, in case Gideon needs us.”

“Such a devoted mother,” Rumple grins, and sets to work driving every coherent thought out of Belle’s head.

Overall, she thinks, as far as happy beginnings go, she couldn’t be happier.


End file.
